


Three Times She Cried

by Azeran



Series: Sharp and Duff Chronicles [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Drama, F/M, Mentions of Death, Romance, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:42:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azeran/pseuds/Azeran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each time she cried, Sharp was at a loss of what to do. So whatever came to mind, he tried. And whatever he tried, apparently worked pretty damn well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Times She Cried

**Author's Note:**

> Features mine and my bro's OC's, Sharp and Duff. Lots of fluff and angst in this one, because babies hurting is a painful, amazing thing. It's an original story, with romantic/comforting feels, and Sharp being a dumb sweetheart.

The first time he'd caught her crying, Duff was collapsed in a chair with her long hair in tangles around her face. She was angrily trying to brush through the mass, and at first Sharp thought everything was normal. He saw her combat her hair practically every day. She usually lost. If she was lucky, which wasn't often, the worst of the knots could be brushed out, but only after a hell of a lot of work. But that night was different. Sharp didn't know if frustration had gotten the best of her, or if the brunette was just tired. Either way. Duff didn't cry. In all the time he'd known her, he'd never seen her tear up. Not once. Now here she was, sobbing over her hair. Tangles were normal. This wasn't. So he pulled her out of the chair and sat her down on his lap, quietly hugging her waist as the tears fell, one after another staining her pale face. His cheek to her spine, he asked what was wrong. All he got was muted sniffling as she tried to compose herself, failing miserably, and her fingers weakly trying to pry themselves loose from a weave of black silk. He couldn't leave things like that. Call it adoration, or sympathy; whatever. He wanted to help.

At first, he suggest hacking it off. Shorter hair was easier to deal with, yeah? That'd make things a lot less complicated for her. Duff's response was to crush his foot with her heel and storm off towards the bedroom, throatily cursing him out. Him and his stupid ideas. Sharp almost got upset, until he realized she was still crying. Worse now, alongside the choked noise she made when he offered to do it for her, if she was that worried about it. Oook. He was an idiot. No haircut meant no haircut. Right. He made a note of it, and followed her. In the bedroom, Duff was perched on her bed, a leg hugged to her chest and head bowed. He could tell she was still crying. Her cheeks were raw from all the scrubbing. She was still going at her hair too, but this time with a comb. Didn't look to be doing much good. She was impatient, hurting; never a good combo for hair care. Sighing, Sharp watched her for a second, frowning. No haircut, and she was getting nowhere fast. Game plan?

Easy. He took over. It was weird, 'cause Sharp had never been a take charge kinda guy, but this was the woman he lo--like...yeah. This one time, he decided to make an exception. Prying the comb from her fist and catching it when she tried to punch him, he pulled her into the bathroom. Duff was strong; she fought back. He was too though. At least when compared to an exhausted hellion with red rimmed eyes who couldn't stop sniffling. Her attempts to pull free were pretty much ignored by him, and Sharp pushed her towards the tub, turning on the bath water. She looked confused. He didn't bother explaining what was up. Not really anyway. See, Duff had a nasty tendency to argue when she was confused about something, or was unsure. That's what he wanted to avoid. It was much easier just to persuade her. A hand at her t-shirt hem, tugging it over her head. The same hand making her kneel beside the porcelain, and guiding her upper body towards the hot stream of water. She started to protest, but he shushed her, gathering her hair up and dunking it under the water. After that, she got the picture, calming down, and let him splay his fingers into her thick mass of hair, scrubbing in a dollop of shampoo.

Maybe it felt good? Sharp wasn't too sure. But it got her to quiet down. For that, he was relieved, and he combed as many tangles out as he could prematurely. Suds dripped from the tips of her locks, disappearing down the drain. When Duff leaned back up, shampoo completely rinsed and hair in a wet, wavy mass, he saw a tired little smile on her lips. Only for a moment, and then it was gone again. Still. Triumph. Bonus, she wasn't crying anymore. Sure, there was a faint shimmer in her icy blues, yet nothing bigger than a needle tip came out. Sharp kissed her, praying it stayed that way, and dropped a towel on her head. Duff hesitated before taking charge, peering at him through her soaked bangs. He just rubbed the fluff down her mane, leading her by the hand back into the bedroom. Like clockwork, she was on the bed in seconds, her legs drawn up tight against her chest while she stayed silent, watching him. Could've been cute. Kinda was. He didn't say so. Nope. Sharp sat behind her and started brushing, keeping a close eye on the brunette to make sure she didn't start crying again. Fuck, he couldn't handle that. He hated seeing her cry. It was like.....a puppy getting kicked. But worse.

She never did start up again. Some choked moans and pained whimpers were all he got, and he did his best to smother them, pressing kisses into the side of her neck and unlacing each knot as if it were a delicate skein of silk. No damaging; Sharp wasn't afraid of complaints. He was afraid of her breaking down completely. He didn't quite get why Duff had been crying, and over her hair no less. He wasn't going to ask. They had a thing, and he knew she cared for him. Trust though? That was a lot harder to earn in her case, when he'd done a shit job of handling things in the past. For now, he was content having her with him, hair and all. If Duff wanted to tell him what was up, she could. He'd listen. Sharp would always listen, if it was important. No questions asked. If she didn't want to, fine. He wasn't gonna pry. He would be there for her though, and he said as much, albeit in a roundabout way, brush gliding through the last tangle and leaving her hair a damp, gleaming mass of onyx. There. Done. "All better babe."

Hesitantly patting her tresses, Duff shuddered, glancing over her shoulder. The smile she gave him was heart wrenching, and he was torn between kissing it away, or savoring it. ".......not bad."

Good enough for him, He dragged her back with him to the mound of pillows at the head of her bed, wrapping Duff's smaller frame in his arms. He didn't feel bad when she hid her face, burying it in his chest, and he still didn't feel bad when she called him a bossy jackass under her breath. Sharp knew it was only because she was upset; she didn't really mean it. It was easy to hug her closer and close his eyes, just like it was easy to kiss her forehead and wonder over this tentative, fleeting moment between them. The cuddling was all good in his book. The tears.....Sharp threaded his hand deep into her hair, holding her limp frame close. He didn't want to see her crying ever again. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What he wanted never had mattered much. Sharp realized that when the second time came around, and he had a crying Duff to face. This was a lot worse than last time though. For one, these were angry, pitiful tears he was dealing with. And, unfortunately, they were his fault. How was he supposed to know that her shirt was that flimsy though? He'd just grabbed the front to pull her in for a kiss! That's all! But he'd underestimated his strength, and waaay overestimated the duress her clothing could handle. Which was why it came as such a big shock when things unfolded in an order that might've been comical...except no way was he laughing. Duff's shirt ripped, exposing half her chest. Sharp let go, staring in amused shock. She gaped. And then....he got decked in the face. Her knuckles only grazed his jaw, 'cause she was turning away by then, grappling at the ripped fabric in what he recognized very quickly as panic. Fear. Dejection. Ah shit.

That's when the sickening feeling settled in. He'd fucked up. Big time. He didn't get why she was so pissed, and, alright, he could've been more careful. But it was done. All he could do now was calm her down. Which he tried. It was an old shirt, yeah? She should just throw it out. He could always give her one of his in exchange. No problem. He didn't mind. 

His suggestions earned him a slap across the face. And a hysterical Duff screaming at him, a bunch of curses Sharp couldn't even begin to pick up. His ears were still ringing, and fuck, his cheek hurt like a bitch! Lucky him, his hearing came back just in time to register that she'd stopped screaming, which was good. Except she was sobbing. Not so good. Anger he could deal with. Tears though. Tears got to him. Shit, he'd been hoping he wouldn't have to deal with this again! It was bad enough the first time. But this, this was worse. A lot worse. 'Cause this was his fault. He ripped her shirt. He did it, not her. 

Guilt sank deep into his bones, scraping away at the marrow. Ah man....

What to do. Last time was easy. She was pissed at her hair, yeah? Simple solution. He brushed it for her. Not like he minded. Sharp liked playing with her hair, when Duff let him. This wasn't so easy to figure out. Her shirt was gaping down the front, torn by his hand, and she was fisting the fabric closed, her entire face soaked with tears. Looking at her, he felt like complete and utter shit. He didn't get why it was such a big deal. He didn't get why Duff was sobbing like there was no tomorrow, crying over a stupid shirt. Basically, he was confused as hell. A little freaked. And he just stood there in complete ignorance as she sank to her knees and cupped her mouth, blue eyes shimmering like ice under a summer sun, teeth. Her sobs were smothered, but not enough for them to be unheard. Oh no. Sharp could hear every one, from the fuck's all the way to desperate hitches in breath, like she couldn't brea--oh. 

Hyperventilating. Panic. She was hardcore freaking out. Fuck. This shit storm was about to get a hell of a lot worse, if he didn't do something now. Begging her to calm down and struggling to get her on her feet, Sharp hugged her close, fearing the way she just slumped on him, broken sobs her verbal reply. Godfuckingdammit. He couldn't handle this. Duff wasn't supposed to be crying! She was too tough for that shit! Yet here they were, and he could feel the wetness soaking through his shirt. Ah man. He had to come up with some way to fix this. He had to, or she'd never forgive him. That was one thing Sharp refused to let happen. He'd screwed up enough already when it came to them and their--thing. He wasn't gonna do it again. No fucking way. 

Hugging her tight, Sharp buried his face in her hair, panicking a bit himself. It was all good to say he wouldn't let something happen, yeah. But what was he supposed to do? How could he calm her down?! Um...uhh.....fuck, think of something! Torn shirt. Important shirt. Uh--fix it? Could it be fixed? Shit! He didn't know! Where was a goddamn manual when he needed one? He didn't know what to do in situations like this! All he did know was that he hated her crying. Didn't wanna see it. Never fucking ever. He couldn't sew her mouth shut though, so--wait. WAIT. 

"............I'll fix it. Babe, I'll fix your shirt, ok?" 

Duff sniffled, dabbing at her cheeks. She looked ready to protest, maybe yell at him some more. He didn't give her a chance. He pulled her by the hand into his bedroom, ignoring all of her complaints and cruel jabs as he rifled through his dresser drawers. Where was it? Where was it? He kept it around just in case, but--ahah! Plastic brushed his fingers, and he yanked it out from under a pile of underwear, dangling the clear packet for her to see. It didn't contain much...except a needle and thread. Yeah. That's right. He tore it, he'd fix it. That was the only way Sharp could see to make things right. 

Staring at him like he was crazy, she cussed him out and growled when he tried to make her sit on the bed. Like hell he was having any of that shit. Duff was gonna let him try to make amends, whether she liked it or not! Dammit. Sharp pushed her down, bumping her legs apart to stand between, the needle threaded and ready in his hand. There was a terrible look in her eyes, like she'd seen hell and all its horrors. He hated it. Wanted it to go the fuck away. His lips acted of their own accord, touching her forehead in a soft kiss, even as the needle sank through her thin t-shirt, hooking its knot on one side of the rip. Stitch after stitch followed, and he murmured pleadingly into her ear, barely watching what he was doing. Didn't matter. It was gonna be a shitty job anyway. He was no good with his hands, unless it involved a tattoo gun. Or her body. Otherwise, yeah. Nope. But he was giving it his best shot. Whether that counted to her, Sharp wasn't so sure. 

She was barely crying now, and her puffy eyes watched his, flitting down to the stitch work every once in a while. He half wondered if she was breathing; she sat still as stone, save for the moisture dotting her lashes and beading from the corners of opalescent blue. Sharp finished the final stitch with a hesitant smile, cutting the thread and tucking the needle away. There. It was a piss poor job, with gawking black stitches the size of his nail, but he'd tried. Question was....would he get to live long enough to pray his work soothed her? Or would Duff smash his nose flat? 

Her pale fingers stroked each piece of thread, following the ugly mark down her chest. Ironically, it rested right over her heart. Sharp was pretty sure that made it fucking worse. Damn thing was a literal eyesore, and she didn't look happy. Not one little bit. Fuck, he was gonna die. 

"......" Duff thumbed the last stitch, then shot him a look that he couldn't decipher. "You think some shitty stitches are gonna make this better? You tore my shirt. You tore my fucking shirt." 

The emphasis was lost on him. Valuable shirt, he got that much. Why? Meeting Duff's gaze, Sharp cringed. Probably wasn't the best time to ask. No, definitely not. But he did apologize, draping his hands over her hips to give a gentle squeeze, kneading flesh and fabric with his thumbs. And hell if he wasn't relieved when she didn't shove him away. Good sign. Really good sign. Even better when she bent her head forward and cupped the side of his neck in her hand, sighing. Calm responses. Those were a lot better than punching or yelling. Hopefully it wasn't just some stupid facade. Shit, he prayed it wasn't that. He didn't-

".......thanks...Sharp." 

Sharp's head lurched up. He barely noticed his grip tighten, likely bruising. Thanks? Duff...she thanked him? Oh fuck--just.....oh fuck. Sharp threw his arms around her waist and hid his face between her breasts, exhaling the fearful groan he'd barely even noticed he was holding onto. Her chest was wracked with goose bumps. He felt them creep down her ribs and spine, and he mumbled soothingly, urging her onto her back and crawling on top, knees spanning her thighs, fingers nesting in her dark hair. Duff squirmed, made to say his name. Sharp shut her up with a trail of kisses up her throat, unable to believe his good fortunate. Shit, was he lucky. He'd been expecting violence! Not a thank you. But thank him she had. 

Grunting, he kissed her cheek, tears staining his lips with the tang of salt. Lucky. So fucking lucky. Goddamn, he wasn't sure what to say to that. All he could think to do was kiss her senseless, and while she was stiff under his mouth, wary in the way she eyed him, shirt hem fisted anxiously, Sharp was happy enough to deal. Tch. Happy? Screw that. He was ecstatic. Duff wasn't sobbing, or trying to kill him. And she was letting him hug up on her, caress her body like nothing had happened. All thanks to him. Good feeling, that. Worrisome, 'cause he knew things couldn't be that simple. He'd fucked up, made a mess of things again. She couldn't forgive him like that, no questions asked. Could she? Things didn't work like that! .....did they? 

Duff shifted beneath him, the tips of her fingers grazing down his jaw. Sharp caught them with his lips, pressing a kiss to each pad. Whatever. Fuck looking a gift horse in the mouth. She was smiling, even if it was with her pretty features marred with tear tracks. No hysterical sobbing, no death threats, or promises to castrate him. That was enough for him. Holding her hand tightly in his own, he kissed the center of her palm, drinking in her tired sigh. She could be mad at him al she wanted, later. For now, Sharp knew he'd made her better. At least a smidge. 

Another agonized smile was turned his way, and his lips moved over hers chastely, kissing it away. He'd made up for his mistakes. He'd mended what he broke, however haphazardly, and he got a thank you for it. A thank you, dammit. So what if she was still a bit teary eyed, or trembling like a kitten? Duff thanked him! Problems or not, he'd helped her that much. And right now, he couldn't ask for anything better.

"...........yeah, sure. No problem Duff." 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was when the third crying spree came around that Sharp had finally started getting the picture. Each time Duff cried, it was because something upset her. Something huge. The shirt was his doing, he admitted it. But he was pretty sure had it been any other shirt, she wouldn't have been so pissed. Na. That shirt had been special. Special to her. And her hair....ok, he wasn't too sure where that came into the picture. Frustration? Didn't make sense. It had to be something else. Maybe...maybe both times had reminded her of something? Yeah! Yeah, that made sense! ....but what. The fuck. Could hair brushing remind her of? 

Sharp grimaced. Damn. Shitty theory. Except he was positive it was right. There was no other explanation that really struck him as fitting, since this was Duff. She wasn’t exactly hard to figure out, but traditional shit didn’t really suit her. Any other girl would throw over a fit over her hair and clothes because yeah, that was her shit. Duff wasn’t like that. Never had been in all his time of knowing her. She was bitchy, callous, crass, borderline rude, occasionally violent, and didn’t really give a fuck about much else besides her bar and, he liked to think, him. Duff certainly didn’t care when some sorry ass got hurt on her watch, especially if they deserved it. Most did. In her logic anyway. Fuck, she dealt with drunken morons on a daily basis, yeah? Sharp didn’t much blame her for not giving a shit. There was just one problem with that though. For someone who supposedly didn’t give a fuck, she was crying awfully hard over the wreckage outside. 

At first, he couldn’t really blame her. The whole street looked like a damn war zone. There were pieces of glass and metal scattered everywhere, air raw with the scent of burnt rubber. Two cars lay crunched together against the far side, windshields barely intact, but for the gaping hole in one, and the spider web cracks in another. And the blood…..it was fucking grisly. Anyone would flinch away from a sight like that. Especially Duff, who couldn’t stand watching a dumb horror movie. 

Yeah. She’d cringed away, all right. Sharp had been the first to see her after the wreck. She was gaping at the cars, still in her work clothes and ready to unravel at the seams. And there’d been this look of…horror on her face. Anger too, sure, but it was muted under the veil of fear. He hadn’t been able to grab her in time to keep her from stomping over to the cops, demanding answers, and goddamn, he wish he had. It was after that that the horror faded away, and the tears set in. Drunk drivers. That’s what they said. Two of the bar’s dumbass regulars had decided to try and drive home drunk. They’d crashed headlong into another couple, completely sober. All died on impact. The news had barely made him grimace. It sucked, yeah, but he didn’t know them. Why should he care? But Duff…..oh Duff…. 

She’d stared at them, eyes wide and shimmering. He should’ve seen the warning signs then. Dammit, he should’ve seen! But every time he’d seen her crying, she’d already been in tears by the time he’d gotten involved. This was different. It was like watching a train wreck take place in slow motion. Or, fuck, the cars in action. As the officers walked away, Duff had turned to look at the pathetic remains. Watched the bodies get dragged from their mangled frames, lashes hooking low over her hpnotiq blues. Sharp wasn’t a dumbass. He’d hurried over to her, taking her by the shoulders to pull her away. Too late. Too fucking late. Whatever her problem was, she’d collapsed into him, a lifeless rag doll. Struggling with her weight, he’d sunk to one knee and propped the brunette’s chin up, worriedly demanding answers. That’s when he saw them. The fucking tears. They came to life one by one, making a home in her eyes. And then they’d flowed. His fingertips were wet with them before he’d known what was happening, and that’s when everything rounded itself out. Duff was sobbing. He was holding her, at a total loss of what to do. Yet again. 

This really didn’t get any easer the third time around. 

“Babe..? Talk to me.” It took everything he had to get her on her feet, and he was half carrying her as is, Duff’s head going limp on his shoulder. The only movement she did make was the tremors from her sobs. Dammit. His arms firm at her waist, Sharp tried not to panic. Ok. He could do this. He’d faced a crying Duff not once, but twice already! Piece of cake, right? 

Ha. Wishful thinking. Her sobbing just grew worse when they passed the wreckage to get back inside, and as he pushed her into a chair, he made sure to shut the damn door. Bad enough the sirens were still going off. He didn’t need Duff seeing anything else and crying harder. Or worse, hyperventilating again. That was scary enough the last time. 

Standing over her and fretting despite himself, Sharp placed his palms on her wrists, leaning down to try and meet her eyes. They were livid with tears, lips quivering, showing her teeth. She had them clenched together so tight, he was surprised nothing had cracked. Shit. Worried, he tried to talk to her. “Duff. C’mon. Talk to me already. Tell me what’s wrong. Is it the car crash?” Stupid questions. He was full of them. Sharp tried again. “Look, I know it’s a shitty situation, but stuff happens. Ok? They made their choice. They drove drunk. Way I see it, they had it coming. You do stupid shit, you’re gonna-”

He didn’t get another word in. Duff was on her feet in seconds and kicking her chair back like it was a fucking pebble, mouth curling in an agonized snarl and hands shaped like claws at her sides. “Nobody fucking has that coming! Nobody!!!” Punching him hard enough to make Sharp stumble, she advanced on him and fisted his shirt, gouging holes into the thin fabric. “How can you say that?? Huh? Are you that goddamn heartless?!” 

………..what? What the fuck---just happened?! Sharp grabbed her wrists in case she decided to hit him again, but Duff collapsed into him with a shaky whimper. Her insults fresh in his ears, he held her tight and tried to figure out what exactly was going on. Her anger wasn’t a new thing by any means, but that kind of response? He couldn’t help but think back to his theory. Right about now, it was seeming a hell of a lot more plausible. Duff didn’t throw fits. She just didn’t. And if stupid shit got to her, she yelled. But this was the third time she’d been crying on his watch, with nothing but weird stuff he didn’t understand causing it. 

That meant it was less than obvious. Tangled hair and ripped shirts didn’t make her cry, and some idiots getting themselves killed wouldn’t do it either. Na. Pressing a palm to her nape, Sharp felt the brunette’s raspy sobs. It was something else. Something….bigger. More serious. Duff didn’t cry over nothing. Wasn’t her way. And he admitted, he didn’t know enough about her past to even hope he’d figure out the right source, if it was something like that. But that seemed the best guess. Whatever the fuck these things had in common, they all hit close to home. She took them personally. Why? Hell if he knew. The why didn’t really matter to him right now though. What did matter was the fact that his damn girl--whatever was crying. Sharp hated it. Had to fix it. Somehow. He was just fresh out of ideas. How did you comfort somebody after a fucking car crash? They didn’t even know the people who died! Not that that seemed to matter to Duff, who was leaning into him and choking on her cries. Sharp panicked. 

“Duff, stop. There’s nothing you could’ve done. Nothing anybody could’ve done.” Kissing her retaliations away, he sat her down in another chair and pinned her wrists to the scarred wood. He didn’t want her going anywhere. Knowing Duff, she’d try to run upstairs, avoid a painful situation. He sympathized. This was all going to shit, and it was gonna get worse before it got better. She hated showing any weakness anyway. Him seeing her like this wasn’t helping. But dammit--he stroked her cheek, too aware of the sadness and anger in her gaze. And the---oh. Guilt. Fuck. Did she feel guilty? What the hell for? 

Dammit. Sometimes he forgot that under that rough and tough exterior, she was a ball of mush. ‘Course she felt guilty. Who‘d sold those dicks the drinks that got them drunk? It didn’t make things her fault, not in his eyes. But in hers…. “Stop it.” Sharp barked at her. “I know you babe. None of this is your fault. You hear me? It’s not. They’re the ones who got drunk. They’re the ones who tried to drive. Not you. You can’t blame yourself for the stupid mistakes of others. They made their choice. It killed those people. All of them. And we can’t change that.” Some of the frustration wept from his voice, and he sighed. “Look. If I could, I would! I’d do anything to make you feel better. But…….I can’t.” He drew her face up and kissed the corner of her lips. “And I’m so sorry for that baby. I really am. It’s not your fault though. Don’t go thinking otherwise.” 

She stared at him, wetness sopping her cheeks. He had no way of telling if he was helping her. Fuck, what if he was making things worse? He just had to hope he wasn’t. That’s the best he could do. 

Apparently, he was finally starting to figure out this tender, comforting stuff. Her tears didn’t exactly stop, but they definitely slowed. And she let him kiss her, actually full on kiss her, arms locking tight around his neck in a rare as hell show of tenderness. Sharp could’ve caved at that. She needed him. She needed him, and he’d calmed her down. Him. Nobody else. For Duff, that spoke mountains. Hell, most of her actions did, if he really stopped to think about it. She let him take care of her. Maybe it wasn’t completely willing, since her damn pride liked to rear its ugly head, but when push came to shove…..she let him. Like now. Supporting her, Sharp stepped aside as she shakily rose from the chair. She didn’t look so good. Nauseous, pale, dark shadows under her eyes. Yeah. TLC was in her future, whether she liked it or not. 

Guiding her by the elbow, Sharp took her around as he locked up the bar. Cops wanted a statement? It could wait. Like hell he was gonna let them anywhere near her right now. Duff needed sleep. Maybe a hot bath. Coffee. And a lot cuddling on the couch, with something cheesy on tv. Things he was more than willing to do with her, for her. Ten times over. Always. His fingers slipped up her arm, catching her each time she stumbled, missed a step, tears and dark frustration marring her eyes. Damn. “Babe, c’mere.” 

It wasn’t really a request, or a command. Just a warning. He caught her the second she stumbled again, hauling her into his arms with a small grunt. Least she went willingly. Docile Duff was better than nothing, and it made it a helluva lot easier to carry her upstairs, the loft door shut behind them. Each step away from the wreck outside had her a bit more at ease too, tears drying up, until she slumped against him with a muffled sigh. She sounded exhausted. Upset still, but better. And all of that made her quiet little love you that much sweeter to his ears. Giving her a squeeze, Sharp gave a weary grin. That made it all worth it. All the tears, all the trouble. Completely worth it.


End file.
